Windows without screens and gigantic flies that buzz around the room.  Nothing else.

I take pictures of windows and doors, the intricate patterns, like webs or lace,  grooves imbedded.  The aged buildings with peeling paint don’t need graffiti, masking the beauty of time, the muted colors from sun and years.  The peeling paint, the plaster, the brick, the cobblestone streets that twist.  In Krakow I can walk these streets without getting lost.  Or if I do, I will turn around.  Lindsay says she walks every street like she owns it –with attitude, that she will do what she wants when she wants to: Go to the movies alone without thinking: They are all looking at me or What’s wrong with you?  Or You poor thing.  

The ladies at work looking at you like you are half finished, waiting for life to begin.

Sometimes I feel blank.  A sheet of lined paper with nothing on it.

I’m not sure who I am without artifice, who I want to be.

Fearless maybe.